HORSE STORY
All my childhood I was horse crazy. Remember, this was the day of cowboys and Indians played with toy guns and high standards. I faithfully watched Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, The Lone ranger and later Bonanza. I knew everything about each cowboy’s horse. Actually I found the horses much more interesting than the cowboys.
Fueled by stories from my parents who had both grown up on farms that relied on the original horse power to get work done, and by the occasional visit to a stables to rent heaven for an hour, I developed the dream of one day owning lots of horses,. They would share Sunnybank II with the collies. But money being scarce, the stable visits were also scarce. And life moved me through high school and on to Oneonta to be civilized.
Imagine my joy when I learned that not only did Oneonta have a stables, the owners were always looking for students willing to work in exchange for free rides. Everyone came out a winner. The family in charge, offered horse owners one of two contracts. If you owned a valuable horse you might choose to pay a fairly high fee. You would be guaranteed room, board, grooming and regular exercise provided by a knowledgeable horseman.
If on the other hand, you were not as particular about your animal, you could pay a lesser fee. The horse would still be fed and boarded, but exercise would be provided by customers who came to the stables to rent horses. On any given day, your horse might be ridden by six different people, none of them knowing what they were doing. Grooming would be provided, but again by someone like me who might not know a lot. But then a shovel only has two ends and a bright college student can generally figure out which end is safe to grab.
On an especially gorgeous day in September of 1968, I showed up for my first day of work. Handed a shovel and shown several stalls, I quickly overcame revulsion and “dug” in. The unpleasantness of the job was overcome by the thought riding the beautiful palomino or the stunning grey that watched me from the coral. When I had finished, I was lead past both those horses to a side stall where the ugliest creature I had ever set eyes on stood. To qualify as a horse, an animal must be 16 hands at the shoulder. A hand is 4 inches, so quick math says the horse must be 4’ 8 at the shoulder. This “horse” could have only been 4’ 8 1/16 . Adding to his attractiveness was his color -- grey mixed with dirt, only the dirt never washed off. But by far the most disgusting thing were his eyes. Piebald is a gentle description. Wild and scary more accurate.
Disappointed and angry, I nearly told the owner to stick the fork where it would do the most good. But, I had endured all that stink, so I might as well get something for it. A saddle was quickly thrown on the miserable creature and I jumped on – and into a two year love affair.
I was to learn what perfection was hidden inside that ugly body. He never wanted to end a ride, never showed any fear no matter where we went or how noisy it was, never once failed to respond to any request. And never have I ridden a horse with an easier gate. He was the most even tempered, pleasant animal I have ever been around. We became great friends.
Alas after two years, insurance issues caused the family to stop allowing “volunteers” to work around the horses. That meant actual money needed to change hands to continue riding. Life also interfered. Within a blink of time a highway was being built through the old riding track and stables and the inmates were gone.